


Child's Play

by claryfrary



Category: The Grisha Trilogy - Leigh Bardugo
Genre: F/M, but they're both stubborn assholes, the best thing for both of them would honestly be to just break up, they are a mess
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-11
Updated: 2017-12-10
Packaged: 2018-12-26 16:48:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 6
Words: 20,152
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12063096
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/claryfrary/pseuds/claryfrary
Summary: This might be the worst decision Alina has made to-date.(Alternatively: not-really-friends with more issues than benefits)





	1. intro

**Author's Note:**

> This was spur of the moment, and unedited, so there's probably some errors.

In all the two years Alina had known Aleksander Morozova - and she used the term ‘known’ loosely - she had never been able to picture him as a child or really as any age younger than he was. Which was absurd, because she knew he had to have been a child at one point just like everyone else. But he didn’t seem like it. Not once. 

Not when he had her up against a wall, lips on her neck. Not when he was laying beside her, chest rising and falling heavily but not saying a word. 

“Was I your first?” He’d once asked Alina.

She’d turned to him, cheeks and chest flushed, her white hair like a halo around her head as the sun broke over the horizon behind her. When she talked all she could think about was her swollen lips and how they’d gotten to be that way. “No.” Her tone was light.

She felt more than noticed him stiffen before he spoke, resuming a casual air. “Then who?”

“Mmm, we’re not having this conversation.” She had flopped down on her back, noticing in her slowly fading haze, that he was careful not to touch her anymore; his arms against his sides, his legs stuck straight out. 

“Why not.”

“Because I always tell you everything, and you give me nothing in return.”

Between one blink and the next, Aleksander had been hovering over top of her, dark hair hanging down around his eyes, and she’d been tempted to reach up that small distance between them and place her lips on his pale neck. But Alina had stayed where she was, forcing her eyes to stay focused on the gray ones boring into hers. 

“I can get it out of you,” he’d said.

She rolled her eyes. “Why do you  _ care _ ?”

“I’m not sure, but it seems to be all I’ve been doing when it comes to you, Alina.” And he’d kissed her. Fiercely. So hard she was positive she would have bruises on her lips. 

She thought about that a lot. Thought and thought about it until the words were senseless mush in her head and she was convinced by them. But lately she wasn’t so sure - because what better way, her best friend had said, to get a girl (four years younger than you, no less) into your bed than to say you cared about her? It would be hook, line, and sinker every time he said he cared because that was only a leap away from love. And when it came to love, Alina was starved, and, like a child, would take whatever scraps were thrown to her. 

So while Alina could never even conceive of Aleksander as a child, he certainly could conceive of her as one.  


	2. kolybel'-razboynik

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's a slight time jump from the first chapter to this (Alina has just turned 16, and Aleks is almost 20).

**i.**

“Quick girl! You’re letting all the heat out!” Baghra snapped, smacking her cane against the tile floor.

Alina shut the oven door, holding up her hands. “Just making sure the cinnamon buns weren’t burnt to a _crisp_.”

Baghra made a _hmph_ sound, and said, “Do it quicker next time.”

When the old woman had turned her back, Alina rolled her eyes, crossing her arms over her apron. The black fabric was thoroughly coated in flour and icing sugar and something sticky, and Alina was sure she’d gotten some in her hair but couldn’t tell. Not that she minded so much - this was the first real job she’d had, and she rather liked working in a bakery so far. Even if the owner was a hobbling old woman who looked like she might put a hex on Alina if she left the front door open too long and “let all the heat out” (even in the middle of July).

The bell above the door chimed. Alina glanced up from where she had gone back to icing cupcakes, coming very close to dropping the piping bag on the floor when she beheld the customer - who, because the Saints apparently loved and hated Alina, happened to be Mal Oretsev, the love of her thirteen year old-self’s life.

He smiled, and Alina was absolutely lost. His eyes were such a perfect shade of blue, and she immediately wondered if Baghra would whack her with her cane if Alina tried to recreate the colour with icing.

His smile was starting to drop when she continued to stare. Shaking her head, Alina spoke. “What can I get for you?”

Mal’s eyes flicked up to the menu board, but she swore they caught on her hair on the way down. “A...dozen cupcakes.”

She continued to smile, sure she looked maniacal as she punched buttons on the register. “What kind?”  

He seemed to consider for a minute, and she couldn’t help but notice he wasn’t nearly as stoic and impassive as Aleksander when he considered things. “You pick,” a blinding smile, “I trust you know which are the best.”

“All right,” she grinned back, and read him his total. He handed over a wad of cash.

“Keep the change.”

“Thanks.”

**ii.**

Aleksander picked her up from Genya’s sometime after dinner. Genya waved to Alina from her front steps, giving her a not-so-covert wink.

She rolled her eyes.

“How was your day?” He asked as they pulled away from the curb.

His hand moved from the gearshift to rest on her thigh, and she gave a little knowing smile that she didn’t know if he could see in the darkness of the car. “Well, Tolya didn’t dump flour in my hair today, so pretty good, I’d say.” A slight hesitation. “What about you?”

“Long,” he said. A wry little twist to his lips came after, but he didn’t say anything more on the subject.

She restrained the sigh that wanted to escape her lips and opted for looking out the window instead of trying to get anything more out of him - she knew she could push all she wanted and never get an answer.

His hand tightened around her thigh as they pulled into the parking lot to his apartment, and she felt her stomach flutter in anticipation.

\---

Aleksander tugged her up the first flight of stairs, at least, before he pushed her against the cold wall.

Her breath caught in her throat, and she kissed him back feverishly, hands reaching up eagerly to tangle themselves in his ink splotch hair. He made a sound in the back of his throat - something like a growl, that Alina took for approval and tugged him closer.

His hands pushed against the wall on either side of her, boxing her in. A small sound, much too close to a moan for her liking (especially when he was only kissing her neck) escaped her.

She pushed him away, and hardly taking note of the dark look in his eyes, grabbed his hand and tugged him the rest of the way up to his apartment.

\---

 

She didn’t tell Aleksander about Mal.

 

**iii.**

Mal came back to the bakery every few days, every time asking Alina what she recommended with a flirtatious smile that managed to make her heart race in her chest.

The fifth visit was no different than the ones before except for one minor detail: “Will you go out with me?”

Alina stared at shock at the register, hand frozen in mid-air, halfway down to a key, though she couldn’t remember which. Then, she was reacting before she could think through any of what was coming out of her mouth - “ _Yes_!”

Mal nodded, smiling. “I’ll text you. Maybe we can get ice cream later tonight?”

“Sure,” Alina agreed, scribbling down her number for him. “Okay.”

The second Mal was out the door and no longer visible through the windows, panic gripped her; what was she going to tell Aleksander?

\---

She ignored Aleksander's calls.

**iv.**

Alina was halfway through her small closet (for the third time) when she heard Ana Kuya cursing at someone downstairs: “ _Kolybel’-razboynik_!” she shouted.

She furrowed her brows, wondering who on earth Ana Kuya was calling a cradle robber when it struck her - but what was he doing at Keramzin? Why was he _here_?

Her eyes darted to the measly lock on her door handle, heart jumping.

A single, solitary knock on her rickety door. “Alina.”

She took a deep breath, willing herself to stop shaking. With a forced air of nonchalance, she went back to her closet - pretending to be preoccupied - and called out, “Come in.”

Her door creaked open.

Though she wanted to, Alina forced herself not to turn around, afraid to see what she’d find on Aleksander’s face. “Was there something you wanted?” She asked. “Or do you just like barging into group homes and being called a _kolybel’-razboynik_?”

“Why didn’t you answer your phone.”

“It died.”

“Did. It.” The question came from between gritted teeth, and she could see Aleksander knew she was lying.

She was silent, holding her breath  but he stayed where he was, uncomfortably still. Unable to help herself, she blurted, “I want a real relationship.”

Aleksander’s eyes roved over her, catching for a second on the black pearl earrings he'd gotten her for her birthday last month; she shifted, fidgeting. “What do you think we have, Alina.”

She almost scoffed. “Not that. You just want me for -”

“For what?” His tone was darker now, deadlier, quieter. She didn’t respond. “For _what_ , Alina?” Every syllable sounded vaguely like a threat.

He stared at her some more, those ice melt eyes seeing everything she didn’t want him to - until she finally shouted (careless of Ana Kuya downstairs and all the girls in the house), “For sex! You only want me for sex!”

He didn’t object.

**v.**

They were on their eighth date, and the fabric of her thin t-shirt and shorts were sticking to her skin with the humidity, and Mal was playing with the long ponytail hanging down her back. “You wanna go somewhere?” He asked, his fingers still twirling the white strands.

She glanced up at him from where her head lay in his lap, eyes catching on the letterman jacket. How lucky was she to have the quarterback?

“Like where?”

He leaned down, a slow, flirtatious smile spreading across his lips. His face was inches from hers. Anticipation fluttered in her chest. She’d kissed Mal before, a few times, but she still felt that nervous giddiness whenever he was close. He dipped down lower, and elicited a soft noise from her when his lips touched her throat. “Somewhere...privater.”

\---

As soon as the car stopped, she was on him; her lips, her hands, her legs planted on either side of his hips.

Mal responded just as eagerly. His hand wrapped around the back of Alina’s neck to pull her close, and she rocked her hips. He groaned against her mouth.

She kept on in this way, her hands finding the hem of his shirt and tugging impatiently. She thought for a few seconds about how she’d accused Aleksander of only wanting her for sex and wondered if that was why she wanted Mal - she shook the thought away and helped Mal awkwardly out of his jacket and shirt.

She ran her hands down his chest, not noticing she was comparing the tan colour of his skin to the paleness of someone else’s until Mal’s fingers found the hem of her own shirt. Alina pulled it over her head, exposing the lacy push-up bra.

His hands found her thighs, her now-bare waist, and she made herself lean into the touch - she didn’t understand why, but she was losing interest in the whole endeavour. Her lips were just on his neck and she inhaled deeply - and was that...Axe? Was she smelling Axe?

Alina kicked herself for expecting anything else.

This was Mal. This was the boy she’d wanted for years, and now she had him and she...she didn’t want him.

What was wrong with her? Why couldn’t she just be as overjoyed as she would have been about this moment two and a half years ago?

His hands were fumbling with the clasp of her bra as she pulled away. She stared down at him, sure her cheeks were not nearly so flushed and her breathing not nearly so heavy as Mal’s. He moved to kiss her again. She put a hand flat on his chest, pushing him back into his seat. “Stop,” she pushed some hair out of her eyes, trying to ignore the guilt clawing at her. “Stop,” Alina said again.

He looked baffled, but let his hands fall to his sides. Alina thought she should move off of him. She thought about making up an excuse - thought about just kissing him some more. Thought about just going through with it and never talking to him again.

She lifted herself off him.

**vi.**

Genya threw the door open wide, and, when she beheld the sight of her best friend, threw her arms around her. She didn’t ask what had happened until they were safely behind Genya’s bedroom door where Alina - despite having told herself not to - burst out in tears.

“What happened?” Genya asked, voice gentle and soothing. It only made Alina cry more.

\---

Alina stayed the night at Genya’s. She told her friend about everything - about how she’d broke things off with Aleksander (though she was still a little confused about it all, because he hadn’t said anything and simply walked out with Ana Kuya cursing him all the way), about how Mal had asked her out and how she’d decided not to sleep with him and how she hated herself and hated Aleksander and hated herself.

“He took advantage of you,” Genya rubbed her shoulder. “Aleksander knows full well that you are younger than him and -”

“I just - I - want him, Gen. But he doesn’t want _me_.”

Genya’s expression shuddered into sympathy as she smoothed back Alina’s hair. “I know, Lina. I know.”

**vii.**

Ana Kuya shook her head at Alina. “Are you proud of yourself, _devushka_?”

Alina glanced back at the surly woman. “Proud of myself for _what_?” She knew she should have minded her tone, but she was in possibly the worst mood and even Ana Kuya’s withering stare wasn’t changing her tune.

“For finding yourself a _kolybel’-razboynik_.”

She sighed. “I wasn’t _with_ him. I spent the night at Genya’s. I’m sorry I forgot to call.”  

“That’s not what I asked.”

Alina gave her a tired little smile. “What is there to be proud of?”

**viii.**

Alina thought about apologizing to him.

She could text him - she’d even drafted out what she would say: _I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it_ . He'd respond,  _I know_. Or she could call him, though she knew he would likely decline her call. She could go to his apartment and pound on his door until he agreed to hear her out.

But apologizing tasted too much like swallowing her pride.

**ix.**

She was sitting on a bench in the park, sketchbook propped on her lap, trying to capture exactly the shade of the leaves on the trees as they began shifting from green. It was only the first week of school and her art teacher was already assigning projects left and right - this being one of them. It was due Monday, and Alina was determined to get it done as nicely as she could even though she was drowning in homework and realistically she should have been rushing.

Someone settled beside her on the bench. She didn’t glance over.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

Alina tilted her head, staring ahead at the trees. “Me too,” she said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this was supposed to be a one-shot, but now it's a four-shot. Maybe five. I was thinking about it and I thought I could do some exploring with their relationship in this.  
> Let me know what you thought!


	3. underdressed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is based off of the song Underdressed by VERITE. There's no time jump, really between this chapter and the last (maybe a week or so).  
> *** Correction. This chapter starts in early October (I believe), where the last chapter left off in the beginning of September. 
> 
> Also, << is Aleksander, and Alina is >>

**i.**

Aleksander slung his arm over her waist, and whether it was accidental or not - Alina thought not - she was pulled closer to him. She tipped her head back a little to look at him. His eyes were closed, but she knew he wasn’t sleeping even with that impassive expression on his face. Her fingers ghosted across the line of his jaw, marvelling at the way things came together to make something so beautiful.

Her fingertips were near the edge of his mouth when she asked, “When do you have to go back?”

He was studying international affairs (or something like that, she could never remember the exact name of the course) at Harvard, with a minor in psychology, and every chance he had, he would drive down from Cambridge to see her. She would sometimes offer to drive up and see him - she’d officially gotten her licence - but every time he would shut her down without so much as offering a reason why.  

The thought crossed her mind that he didn’t want his friends, or anyone, to know he was involved with a sixteen year-old - she threw it away immediately. But it came back with a vengeance, reminding her of the accusation she’d slung at him three months ago of only wanting her for sex. But it couldn’t possibly be that hard to find a girl willing on campus? Otherwise he wouldn’t bother to drive all this way from Cambridge to Os Alta.

Right?

Or did he just find it amusing to string along orphan girls?

“Tomorrow.”

She grinned at him even though his eyes were closed. “Better make the best of tonight, then.”

Alina climbed on top of him, pushing him flat on his back against the motel bed (he’d sold his apartment before moving to Cambridge and Keramzin was off limits for obvious reasons). Her legs on either side of his narrow hips and his bare chest before her, Alina bent low to kiss him; his jaw first, then his mouth (quickly, before he could deepen it), then his neck. He made a noise somewhere between a groan and a growl, and she watched him come alive beneath her, eyes snapping open. They were nearly entirely black, engulfed by the pupils. He reached for her; making as if to flip them over and have his wicked way with her.

As she’d let him so many times already.

Alina flattened her palm against his chest and pushed again. “I don’t think so,” she told him in a slightly sing-song voice. His fingers dug into her hips and she assumed she’d have bruises there tomorrow. Alina wasn’t much surprised to find she didn’t mind that at all.

**ii.**

“Did you finish your outline?” Genya leaned over, peering at Alina’s open binder.

Alina pursed her lips. Shook her head. “No.”

“Okay good, neither did I.”

Alina laughed as she began collecting the papers she’d scattered over the library table. “I’ll see you in chemistry,” she told the redhead as she headed for the door. She pretended not to notice the dirty look the librarian tossed her.

\---

There was a new girl in Alina’s first period physics class.

She had hair just as dark as Aleksander’s, and eyes a deeper, more pinning blue than Mal’s. She saw everybody without really looking, but with a deep disdain, it appeared to Alina as she watched the girl gaze out at her surroundings in the classroom. 

So not someone Alina was going to go out of her way to associate with.  

But - she was perched primly on the stool adjacent to Alina’s. Without a word to the new girl, she sat down and pulled out her textbook, flipping to the page she’d dog-eared last night. As much as physics interested her, sometimes there were only so many big, ultimately pointless words you could consume a night.

The black-haired girl turned to her. “You look like you’re doing a terrible job at rebelling against your parents with that hair.”  

Without looking up from the page, Alina replied, “My parents are dead.”

The girl seemed to contemplate this a moment because there was silence. “Mine too.” A pause. “I’m Zoya Nazyalensky and I’m the best-looking person here, but you might be a close second.”

\---

Alina found she didn’t despise having Zoya as a lab partner.

\---

She tossed her bag against the wall in the backroom, hurrying to tie her hair up and her apron around her waist.

“You’re late, girl.”

“Traffic. Sorry.”

Baghra _hmph-_ ed. When a few seconds later, Alina still wasn’t prepared, she snapped: “Those cheesecakes aren’t going to make themselves, girl.”

“I’m going, I’m going,” Alina told her, heading for the bakery’s stock fridge.

“Wash your hands!” The old woman barked.

Alina let out an exasperated breath, even though she _had_ nearly forgotten to wash her hands.

**iii.**

Aleksander called her around two-thirty in the morning, when she was knee-deep in quantum physics.

She hadn’t felt the full effect of his being gone until he said, “Hello.”

“Hey,” she sighed, and though she was tired and barely keeping her eyes open, the sound was content. “What’re you still doing up?”

“I could asked you the same thing.” She noted the way he neatly avoided the question.

“Or should I ask who you’re doing?” Alina felt one of her brows arch, the phone held to her ear by the way her head was pressed against her shoulder as she scribbled away the answer to one of the homework questions.

He chuckled lowly. “You, if you weren’t three hours away.”

A thrill went through her.

But she said, “I don’t think so, I’m only halfway through my physics homework.”

He was silent a moment, and she wondered if her age immediately popped into his head like it had into hers; a flashing number sixteen with a warning siren sounding.

**iv.**

Aleksander called her again on Friday, and the moment she heard his voice she felt the distance between the last time they’d spoken like years.

“Hi,” she said, and Tolya glanced her way as he kneaded dough. “One sec,” she pulled the phone away from her ear and said to him, “I’ll be back in a few, okay?”

He nodded.

Alina put the phone back to her ear as she headed for the backroom. “Sorry.”

“It’s fine,” he told her. “Are you at work?”

“Yeah, till eight.”

She pictured his impassive face in the silence that followed. “I won’t be down tonight.”

Alina blinked. “Oh.”

He didn’t even sound disappointed. “Next weekend, however…” Aleksander trailed off, and Alina caught the implication in his words easily enough. She wondered then why when he saw her all he ever wanted to do was have sex. Why couldn’t they go out and _do things_?

“I’ve got to go,” she told him abruptly. She almost added, _I’ll call you later_ but didn’t feel like being subtly rejected so she hung up instead.

**v.**

The next week passed in a haze of school and the bakery. She thought she should have been preoccupied enough to be distracted from the lack of phone calls she was receiving from him, but the fact was still prominent at the forefront of her mind.

This time, the bad news came in the form of a text: _Can’t come_. In her mind, she heard the promise of _Next weekend, however_ …

She didn’t deign to reply - partly because she didn’t know what to respond, and because she didn’t want to come off disappointed, and partly because she wanted him to see that he’d been left on read, as if Alina might have better things to do than beg for attention she wasn’t going to get.

She tossed her phone at her bed.

Biting at her lip, Alina picked it up after a moment. She wanted to call Genya to come over, but knew Genya would make her talk about her feelings and that wasn’t something Alina wanted to do right now.

She called Zoya instead.

\---

Zoya pulled a half empty bottle of _kvas_ and a bottle of wine from her bag and then stared at Alina expectantly. Like she thought Alina wouldn’t really do anything with the alcohol.

Just to prove her wrong - and make a point - Alina plucked up the crystal bottle of _kvas_.

\---

“Yikes,” Zoya stared at Alina as she finished off the bottle with a final swig. “Who broke your heart, Starkov?”

Alina swallowed. “No one,” she said. “Yet.”  

**vi.**

It was another week before Aleksander came back to Os Alta. He had dark circles under his eyes like he had no concept of sleep, but didn’t even hint at tiredness as he pulled Alina’s wrists above her head.

There was that familiar thrill in her belly, but there was also the urge to burst into tears - she’d missed him so much.

When had been the last time they’d spoken? On the phone _or_ in person?

She spoke in between desperate kisses. “I missed you.”

He didn’t say anything; only kissed her harder, with more desperation. It was a bruising pressure.

She wanted to object, to break away from him and demand they go out like a normal...well, couple. Because they were a couple, weren’t they? In a strange sort of secret way?

But there was no demanding anything from Aleksander Morozova, and she was simply glad to have him in her arms so she kept her thoughts to herself.

**vii.**

He had grown out of his habit of not touching her after. No longer were his arms stuck to his sides and his body carefully distanced from hers - really, it seemed pointless to disentangle themselves when one would inevitably reach for the other again.

“Why don’t we ever go out?” Alina asked, hoping she didn’t sound as vulnerable as she was feeling even if she knew it wouldn’t matter anyways; Aleksander could read her like a picture book.

His eyes met hers, something swirling in them for the shortest second.

Before he could respond, she continued, teasing, “I mean unless you’re worried about being seen with someone so young making you look old.”

He laughed, and she watched, transfixed by the way his eyes crinkled and the dimple that appeared. He had a dimple? Since when? And why was this the first she was seeing it?

Alina said as much to him.

His lips quirked in amusement. “If you haven’t noticed,” he wrapped his arms tighter around her, pulling her closer until their noses nearly touched, “I don’t smile much.”

She rolled her eyes. “Yeah, _purposefully_.”

**viii.**

He wasn’t coming back for Thanksgiving break.

Suffice to say, Alina was disappointed.

“I don’t know why you bother with him,” Genya said, shoving a fry into her mouth.

“Bother with who?” Zoya questioned as she slid into the empty chair between the two of them.

Genya smirked a little, but the expression didn't touch her eyes. “Alina’s man candy.”

“Is _that_ who we got rip roaring drunk over?”

Alina buried her face in her hands. “Let’s please not have this conversation.”

Genya snorted. “You brought it up, Alina dear.”

“Yes, because I wanted you to agree with me that he is a giant asshole.”

“Oh, I do,” Genya said at the same time that Zoya said, albeit with likely every ounce of sarcasm she could muster, “Trouble in paradise?”

“No _shit_ , Zoya,” Alina snapped, narrowing her eyes.

Rolling her eyes, she said, “I know it’s hard, but can you tone down the teen angst bullcrap?”

“Oh don’t act like you’re not dying to know Zoya,” Genya replied sharply.

“Fine,” Zoya said boredly, “I’m absolutely dying to know. Clue me in already.”

**ix.**

Ana Kuya announced that this year, they would celebrate Thanksgiving.

Together.

Like one big happy family of girls who hated each other if only because they didn’t have enough time in the bathroom or hot water because of another.

They grumbled and groaned and glared, but Ana Kuya ignored it all - slightly gleefully, Alina noticed - as she assigned them jobs. Some were forced to clean the house, others to decorate, while Alina got stuck on food prep with Ruby.

As if Alina didn’t already spend enough time doing that at the bakery.

“Guess we should start with the turkey,” Alina began unpackaging the thing, while Ruby rooted through their cupboards for a large pan that they likely didn’t have.

The two girls were thoroughly disgusted to remember they had to clean the turkey.

\---

Ana Kuya swept into the kitchen just as Alina began to peel potatoes. Ruby was making stuffing based off a recipe she’d found online. They’d both been, again, disgusted to learn they had to stuff the stuffing _into_ the turkey. The surly woman was wearing a long black dress, and her dark, graying hair was pulled back in a severe bun to expose the harsh and weathered features of her face.

“Is it alright if I invite someone over for dinner, Ana Kuya?” Alina asked, mindful of her tone, completely aware that she was still on rocky grounds with the woman after Ana Kuya had met Aleksander.

“Your _kolybel’-razboynik_ is not welcome in this house,” Ana Kuya told her.

“I am not seeing him anymore,” she lied easily. “I wanted Genya and Zoya to join us. Neither of their families celebrate the holiday.”

Ana Kuya’s brows furrowed, and she frowned. “Yes. Fine.” She turned to leave, nearly to the doorway, when she turned back to Alina and said, “Know that I am glad you are seeing him no longer, _devushka_.”

\---

Both Genya and Zoya were over within the hour.

“You’re a Saint, Alina,” Genya gave her a grateful look as she stepped into the hallway, shedding her white trench coat and hanging it on one of the many hooks.

Alina laughed. “I know. And I also know how awful your parents get on the holidays, so I’m glad you’re here.”

Zoya bustled in not a minute later, knocking Genya into Alina with the force she opened the front door.

“Do you not know how to _knock_ before you come barging into places?” Genya scowled at the raven-haired girl, rubbing her hip where the door had come into contact with it.

“A Queen is not required to knock.”

Alina snorted.

\---

Dinner turned out to be, surprisingly, good.

The table was packed, and Ana Kuya had Ruby and another girl bring up the fold up chairs from the basement. They were thoroughly coated in dust, and Zoya flat out refused to sit on one until she was sure she’d ridden it of every particle of dust (“Do you see these jeans? They’re _designer_ , Alina. You don’t sit on dirt in _designers_.”).

The house was filled with chatter, and if Alina wasn’t hallucinating, she swore she saw Ana Kuya smiling warmly from her seat at the head of the table.

And even more surprising than anything, Alina found herself able to forget Aleksander in the midst of it.

\---

The three of them were laughing as they made their way up to Alina’s room.

They talked for hours, and when any hint of light had gone from the sky and the lamps had been turned out and they were all laying in the dark, Alina said, “I haven’t talked to him in almost a month.”

Genya was silent, and Alina knew, even in the blackness of her room, that she was shaking her head disapprovingly at the blonde.

“Who?” Zoya asked softly.

“The one we got smashed over.” She didn’t say anything for a while after that. “I don’t understand why he - why doesn’t he want me the way I want him?”

Genya’s voice was low but fierce, “He isn’t good enough for you, Lina.”

“Clue me in already, would you?” Zoya asked.

So Alina told her - told her the whole bittersweet story; about seeing him for the first time when she was fourteen, knowing he was much too old for her - already attending the University of Ravka - but still daydreaming about what it would be like to kiss him. And how she’d grown from something mousy and unnoteworthy over the course of the year, how she had grown into the too sharp angles of her face and the white hair. How she’d been only fifteen and he had noticed her at Genya’s parents’ New Years Eve party, how she had managed to work up the nerve to strike up a conversation with him. How by the end of that January she had been sleeping with him.  

She told Zoya and Genya how for her sixteenth birthday, he’d presented her with a pair of black pearl earrings that she had seldom taken off since. How at first she’d been so scared to end up pregnant - how she still was. She told them about Mal Oretsev asking her out, how she’d accused Aleksander of only wanting her for sex, how he hadn’t denied it. About how she was constantly worried that he didn’t think she was mature enough.

She was only sixteen after all, which seemed old enough in Alina’s mind until she compared it to Aleksander’s nearly twenty.

“Holy shit,” Zoya whispered when Alina was finished.

“What the _fuck_ Alina,” Genya propped herself up on her forearms, her voice accusing. “You never told me half of that.”

Despite herself, Alina found herself laughing.

**x.**

Aleksander stopped calling. Now, all she got from him was the occasional text; sometimes asking how she was, others promising a visit that wouldn’t happen.

She grew tired of waiting around.

\---

“Okay, okay,” Genya was beaming. “You look amazing. Why have we never done this before?”

“Because I’m a piece of work?” Alina suggested.

Zoya snorted, and then clicked her tongue. “If you’re a piece of work, what am I?”

“High maintenance?” Genya suggested.

Alina looked impatiently at Genya, the mirror grasped in her hands. “Can I _see_ already?”

Genya handed her the mirror, and Alina was slightly starstruck at what she beheld. She’d never been particularly good at makeup, so she’d never bothered with it, but seeing herself this way…”You have to teach me how to do this.”

The redhead laughed.

**xi.**

Christmas had come and gone, along with a lot - though not all, Alina noted miserably - of the snow. Zoya, however, for whatever reason, loved the stuff.

And she was telling Alina all about her snowy adventures with her niece from the other side of the counter while Alina worked on an order of two dozen cupcakes when Alina’s phone began to buzz in the back pocket of her jeans. Hands sticky with icing, Alina walked over to the short swinging door that led out from behind the counter. “Can you get that? My hands are all sticky.”

“Yes,” Zoya sighed dramatically and pulled the phone from Alina’s pocket. “Alina’s phone; what do you want?”

Alina watched Zoya’s face shift to something like anger. “Who is it?” Alina asked, squeezing the piping bag, anxiety thrumming through her though she didn’t really know why - it was only a phone call.

Zoya cocked her head, pulled the phone away from her ear. “The President. Shall I tell him you’re preoccupied and to call back later?”

“Zoya.”

“Aleksander.”

She felt like her heart might have stopped beating and simultaneously lodged itself in her throat. Steadier than she thought she could manage, she said, “And what does he want?”

“Find out yourself.”

“Tell him I’m busy.”

\---

She was sitting on her bed, listening to music and flipping through her physics notes when he called again.

She stared at her phone, watched and listened to it buzz until it went to voicemail. She watched the screen light up again with his name a minute later, and she was brought back to another moment in time where she was avoiding his calls.

She considered picking up the phone and demanding to know what he wanted, but rejected the idea. She had a strong feeling she knew what he wanted.

\---

Alina had begun to send him directly to voicemail the second her phone started to ring, when he stopped calling. He’d called frequently Saturday, and slightly less on Sunday, and not once today so far.

Genya wanted to know why she didn’t just block his number.

Frankly, so did she.

**xii.**

She wiped the back of her arm across her forehead. Alina didn’t think she had ever sweat so much in her life. The sun was shining in through the front windows, and with all the ovens going, it was obscenely hot. Wearing jeans didn’t help but the stupid weather app on her phone had told her it would be cold today so she’d shown up to work with a sweater, too - which, mind you, she’d quickly discarded with her bag and phone in the backroom; Aleksander still hadn’t called her today, and it was nearly half-past noon, but just to be safe - she left her phone tucked away into her bag while she worked. If he called again, she didn’t want to know.

“You must love this, Baghra,” Tolya said as he whisked ingredients together in a bowl.

Baghra didn’t deign to respond, but looked quite content (as content as Baghra _could_ look) standing there directly in the sun in her big black wool sweater with her cane.

The bell above the door chimed. Alina only glanced up when she was halfway to the register to take the customer’s order. She thought she might have stopped breathing for a second.

He nodded his head at her, and she felt her surprised expression shift into something much closer to a frown.

“What can I get for you?” Alina tried not to sound like she would really like to punch him as she said the words - her boss was standing just right there, after all.

His eyes didn’t once flick up to the menu board. “A chocolate cupcake.”

She hoped her expression conveyed to him just how much she was not fucking impressed with him being here. “That’s everything?”

He didn’t break eye contact with her as he replied, “Yes.” And handed her a few crumpled bills. She tried her best not to touch him as she gave him his change.

Aleksander poured the few cents she’d given him back into the tip cup and proceeded to put his hands into the front pockets of his jeans. Baghra eyed her as she reached under the counter for one of the small pink fold-up boxes. She put it together without really paying attention to what she was doing, and then placed a chocolate cupcake in it. He’d only picked that kind because they decorated their chocolate cupcakes with black icing, and godforbid Aleksander Morozova had anything that wasn’t the same colour as his bitter little heart.

She put the box on the counter and didn’t look back to see him leave.

**xiii.**

“You guys are never gonna believe this,” Alina paced the short length of her room, phone pressed to her ear.

“Try me,” Zoya said at the same time Genya eagerly demanded, “What?”

“Guess who showed up at the bakery today,” before either of them answered, she told them: “Aleksander Moro-fucking-zova.”

Genya was silent while Zoya replied, “Tell me you didn’t sneak off into the back room to do him.”

“I really hate you,” Alina scowled at her wall.

\---

She expected him to come back today. And not just for their to-die-for chocolate cupcakes.

But he didn’t, and the calls stopped, too.

\---

It was late that night, and Alina was lying in her bed, tired and sure she had icing sugar in her hair and that it would be all over her pillows come morning, when her phone buzzed on her small desk. She reached over and found herself scowling at the bright screen in the darkness.

<< How are you.

She opened the message, just so it would tell him she’d read it, and then closed the app.

<< Alina.

A few minutes passed.

<< Don’t ignore me.

Despite her better judgement, Alina responded.

>> Why shouldn’t I

<< Because you miss me.

>> That’s a little presumptuous, don’t you think?

<< No.

She had no idea how to respond, and some part of her reminded the other part that she shouldn’t even be _trying_ to respond. Aleksander had ignored her existence for months, and now she was just supposed to welcome him back with open arms?

She wondered suddenly if he’d noticed her earrings today. Nothing got past him, but she hoped that maybe, just this once, something had.

\---

Alina fell asleep.

Her phone buzzed again.

\---

 _I miss you too_ , the text said.

**xiv.**

March break came to a close, and Alina was once more up to her neck with homework and university application forms and her after-school shifts at the bakery. Though there wasn’t enough time to think of Aleksander, she did.

And she hated it.

She was just tidying up while Tolya tried to fit the extravagant wedding cake they’d only just finished into the massive fridge when the bell above the door chimed. They never got much business on Monday evenings, but there were two people - a couple if their linked hands were any indication - gazing down at the cupcakes and muffins and slices of cake in the display cases.

“How can I help you?” Alina asked standing behind the register and with a smile.

“Oh no,” the woman said, “we’re just looking. They all look lovely.”

The couple left a couple minutes later. She went back to wiping down the counter where she had painted the flowers for the cake.

The bell chimed again. Alina glanced up over her shoulder, dropped her eyes back to the counter and sighed. “What do you want?”

His hands were in the pockets of his likely expensive black coat, and his dark hair was windblown. His eyes followed her.

He motioned with his head at the door he had just come through. “Come for a walk with me.”

Alina stared at him. “You can’t take a hint, can you?”

“You okay out there, Alina?” Toyla called from the fridge.

“Yeah,” she called back to him.

Aleksander tilted his head, those gray eyes still watching her like she was an equation that didn’t quite tally. “Go on, then. Tell me what I did wrong.”

Alina dropped the cloth onto the counter, and stood up straight. She pushed through the little swinging door to stand a few feet away from him. “Tell you what you did wrong?” Her expression was fierce. “Why don’t you tell _me_? Last I knew, you were pretty damn perceptive, Aleksander.” She felt her cheeks warming.

“I’ll be outside when you’re done,” he said and turned to head for the door.

Anger coursed through her. “No,” she said. He stopped, but didn’t turn. “No, you don’t get to do that.”

“I will be outside, Alina.” He spoke quietly, and firm. “Unless you would like to do this in front of him.”

She knew he was talking about Tolya, knew he must be standing just behind the counter, but she didn’t look at him even once as she ripped off her apron and punched her time card. She shrugged on her jacket. “Is it alright if I go?” She asked Tolya through gritted teeth.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Alina,” he responded.

She didn’t bother with slinging her purse over her shoulder as she headed for the door with determined, rage-fueled strides.

\---

Sure enough, there he was with his head tipped back to look at the sky just far enough down the sidewalk to be invisible if she’d tried to look out the bakery windows.

“Start talking, asshole,” she said before she’d even reached him.

“I missed you.”

“No you didn’t.”

He leveled that gaze on her. “I did, Alina.”

“Bullshit! If you’d missed me you would have called.”

“I have been calling you.”

“Phone stalking me for three days doesn’t count!” She took another step towards him, challenging.

“What do you want from me, Alina.” His eyes turned cold.

“I want you to care!” She shouted, pressing her palms flat against his chest and pushing.

He moved hardly an inch.

“I want you to care as much as I do, asshole!” She was breathing hard, feeling tears sting the backs of her eyes but refusing to let them fall - she’d never forgive herself if she let them fall.

He moved so suddenly Alina barely had time to register his movements before his hands were on her shoulders and he was bending to kiss her. She’d known exactly how much she missed those lips against hers, and she lost herself if the contact for a minute before she shoved him away - and either she’d used a lot more force than last time or he was too lost in her lips to steady himself - and he stumbled back one or two steps.

“Don’t do that,” Alina glared up at him.

Aleksander’s eyes seemed to burn as brightly as the colour now high on his cheeks. “Why? Because you’re still trying to pretend you don’t want me anymore?”

Alina narrowed her eyes, brows drawing together as she jabbed a finger at his chest. “Fuck you.”

“Oh, look at you, Alina. Cursing. What a big girl you are.” He mocked with a sneer.

A gust of wind blew her hair around her head. She didn’t know what to say, but she continued to glare up at him, and he at her, the only sound their breaths in the cool night.

After some long minutes, he spoke, voice rough and low. “Well are you going to kiss me.”

She pulled his head to hers, fingers winding themselves tightly - painfully - into his hair. He kissed her back furiously, backing them towards the brick wall until he had her right up against it. In the space between one kiss and the next, she said, “I hate you.”

His teeth bit at her lower lip and she tugged on the hair caught between her fingers. “I know.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright. So that was much longer than I thought it'd be...
> 
> By the end of this, Aleks is 20 (his birthday is sometime in December), and Alina is still 16. Anyways, as always, let me know what you thought!


	4. something new

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Phew. This took a lot longer to write than I would like to admit. Anyways, this chapter leaves off pretty much right where the last one left off.

**i.**

Alina’s heart was beating out of her chest, fingers shaking a little as she all but tore the manila envelope open.

“You already know what it’s going to say.” Genya was perched on the corner of Alina’s small bed, red curls all scooped to one side, her brows raised.

“It could just be a really nicely-packaged rejection letter.”

“Oh, shut up.”

Alina tore the envelope open.

\---

_Alina Starkov, we would like to congratulate you on your acceptance into the University of Ravka’s science program._

\---

“Hello.”

“Hi,” she returned, swinging herself easily into the passenger seat. He pulled away from the curb, and out of her peripheral she saw the lights of the bakery flick out. Alina took a deep breath, fighting the jitteriness that had been running through her since opening that letter. “Okay. Guess what?”   

He cut a glance at her, and she swore she saw the left side of his mouth twitch up in amusement. When he spoke, his voice was low. “You wouldn’t like what I guess.”

Alina rolled her eyes, snorting softly. She could imagine just fine what sort of things were running through his mind: “I did _not_ spend my paycheck on lingerie, Aleksander.”

His brows flicked up slightly as he hummed under his breath. Aleksander flicked on his signal light. Her eyes darted around - this wasn’t the way to the motel. “Go on, then.”

Alina couldn’t help the wide grin that split her face. “Be proud. Your kinda-girlfriend got her acceptance letter from Rav U this morning.”

Aleksander made an affronted noise, eyes meeting hers for a second before they were back on the road. “Of course you did.” A pause. “You are rather smart sometimes.”

“Only sometimes?” She asked, a teasing note in her voice, trying not to think too hard on how he hadn’t corrected her use of the term “kinda-girlfriend”. Because even if she didn’t have all of him, if she wasn’t his girlfriend, she had some of him. Which was better than none of him.  

He twisted the steering wheel, pulling the car into an empty dirt parking lot. Below them, Os Alta was but twinkling lights and bright colours turning sinister in the setting sun. He turned to her, one pale hand still resting on the wheel, and an enticing grin on his face that did nasty things to Alina’s stomach. “I was trying to be humble, Alina.” His face seemed closer than it had been a second before. “I think you are fucking brilliant.”

Alina wasn’t sure anymore who was leaning in, if it was her or him or the both of them. “Oh, I’m _fucking_ brilliant, am I?” She had never considered herself any form of brilliant, just good at what she did.

“Yes.” She laughed a little. He continued, “And that’s why soon we won’t have to do this - hide away every time we want to see each other” - a finger tracing her bottom lip - “because you’ll be in Cambridge with me.”

Her mouth opened a little, brows pulling together. His finger paused at the corner of her mouth. It was a kind of frown mixed with disbelief. “I’m not going to Harvard, Aleksander.”

His hand fell away from her face. “Why not.” Alina noted the way all the expression left his voice. She expected him to turn his head to stare out at Os Alta, away from her, but his gaze held. Cold and unwavering.  

The frown deepened, and she crossed her arms over her chest. “Because I don’t want to.”

He ripped his eyes suddenly away from hers. There was a slight pause before he let his head fall back against the headrest, a humourless laugh passing his lips. “It is one of the best schools in the country, Alina - but of course you would rather go somewhere mediocre, at best.”

Alina sighed in annoyance, rolling her eyes. “Can’t be that bad if _Your Highness_ went for an entire year.”

Those ice melt eyes were back on hers just as quickly as they’d gone, expression more blank than it should have been and his voice low and vaguely angry. “I could teach you more than any professor at that university, Alina.”   

She didn’t deign to respond - if only because she couldn’t think of anything to say back.

After a moment, he continued: “It’s still not too late, you know.”

Alina turned her head from where she had been staring out the passenger window. She made sure to meet his eyes as she said the words. “I’m not applying.”

He looked as if he might challenge her statement for a long minute. Then he ran a hand through his dark hair, and Alina watched as the strands fell back down haphazardly. He’d never done that before, and she absently wondered how long ago he’d picked up the habit - _had_ he done it before, and she simply never noticed it? Or had he started doing it during the months they had stopped speaking?

Alina suddenly wanted to know what else she was missing about him from those months.

They still hadn’t talked about it, really - Aleksander offered no explanation, and Alina didn’t ask for any. She realized that seemed to be a large part of their relationship (whatever their relationship really _was_ ).

Alina startled when he spoke again, tone conversational. “You could live with me.”

“I’m not going, Aleksander.”

He stared at her as if he could deduce her secrets from the way her breath blew out in annoyance and her lips twisted downward. “Why, Alina.”

“Because I don’t want to.”

Aleksander stared longer, eyes narrowing fractionally - “If there is someone els -”

“I can’t go because _I don’t have the money_ , Aleksander!” Red was blooming rapidly across her cheeks and chest, and Alina studiously avoided looking at him in any capacity. It was bad enough that she was toeing the line of being able to attend college at all, but now he had an idea of that. Now he _knew_.    

“You could afford it,” he began, “there are resources, Alina there are -”

“I work at a _bakery_ , Aleksander. I’m barely going to be able to afford going to university as it is, and not all of us can have amazingly rich fathers who die and leave them everything.” The bitterness in her voice was pathetic to her own ears - but she didn’t regret saying it, even as she wondered if she should.  

His eyes searched hers, something almost desperate in the action. “I can pay for it - loan you the money. Alina, you don’t have to miss out on things just because you can’t afford them.”

She barked out a harsh laugh, falling back against the seat, arms still crossed. “That’s the way life works, Aleksander.”

He gave her a look, as if to say she was being stupid. “Alina -”

“I’m not taking your money.” She said it firmly, decidedly, mouth setting into a grim line. If there was one thing she would not budge on where Aleksander was concerned, this was it.

“Don’t think of it like that,” he reasoned, eyes falling on her even as his head was tipped back to the roof.

Alina smiled mirthlessly, shaking her head. “I don’t think you _get it_. I don’t want your money. I am either paying for it myself, or it isn’t happening.”   

“Come to Harvard with me,” he tried again. His tone was nowhere near pleading. “You can live with me.”

“I’m going to Rav U.”

“Alina -”

“No - no! I’m not changing my mind on this. You are not the center of my universe, Aleksander; I’m not going to pack up and go just because you miss having me in your bed whenever you want me there.”  

**ii.**

“We have to celebrate!” Genya hit her fist against the cafeteria table.

Zoya propped her head on her fist as Alina bit into her granola bar. “And how do you propose we do that?”

Genya smirked. Within the past few days, each of them had received their acceptance letters. “Dance party.”

“I’m only having a dance party if I’m thoroughly smashed,” Alina told her, taking a sip of her juice.

Genya smiled an innocent little smile, red lips stark. “My parents are out of town for the weekend, and I don’t think they’d notice if there was slightly less _kvas_ there than when they left…”

Alina made a gagging motion. “ _Kvas_. Really?”

\---

Alina tossed her head from side to side, hair following the motion along with her hips and the bottle gripped in her right hand. The setting sun set the living room alight, gilding the edges of the furniture and the three of them as they laughed between belting out song lyrics.

As it turned out, none of them could sing.

She prayed for anyone who was unfortunate enough to overhear them.

Genya and Zoya were attempting to dance the salsa, and Alina stopped her dancing (if you could call it that) to watch as Genya attempted to dip the raven-haired girl. “Safin, if you drop me I swear to every Saint that I will permanently scar that pretty face of yours.”

Genya snorted, and tipped Zoya back - and then pretended to let go of her.

Zoya made a noise that Alina swore reminded her eerily of a pterodactyl, and couldn’t stop herself from bursting into laughter as Genya grinned.

\---

“So,” Genya started, golden eyes alight as Zoya settled in beside her, a pillow clutched in her hands. “Care to confess anything about your man candy?”

Alina pretended to contemplate, but was barely stopping her mouth from moving. “He wants me to go to Harvard, live in Cambridge with him.”

Genya’s eyes went wide. Alina watched her blink. Once. Twice. Another time.

“Do you want to?” Zoya asked, tone low and serious, the pillow now across her folded legs.

Alina shook her head. “Honestly? Not at all. I miss him, sure, but I somehow doubt I would enjoy being isolated from everyone and everything I’ve ever known.”

Genya was the first to break the quiet spell that fell upon them: “Phew. I was worried there for a second that my plan to draw on your face when you’re sleeping in our dorm was ruined.”

Alina made a face while Zoya laughed.

“Hey what’re you laughing at, Nazyalensky? I’ll draw on you, too.”

**iii.**

Aleksander went back to Cambridge; Alina fell back into her regular summer routine of irregular sleep patterns, shifts at the bakery, and every spare moment spent with her friends.

“Can you believe him? He chose spending the summer with Mikhael and Dubrov over with me.” Zoya demanded, scowling at nothing in particular as she ranted to Alina, her dark brows pinched together.

“He can, you recall, have a life outside your wonderful self, Zoya?” Alina asked, kneading dough alongside Tolya.

“Well obviously,” Zoya rolled her eyes. “But all those losers ever do is get Mal into bad situations.”

“Zoya” - Alina pressed a flour-coated hand to her chest - “did I just get the impression you actually have a heart?”

Zoya levelled a particularly displeased look at the blonde. “Shut it, Starkov.”

\---

Alina welcomed her last year of high school with open arms, dark circles, and Genya and Zoya on either side.

“Ready to party, bitches?” Genya grinned, golden eyes alight.

Alina snorted. “Party. Sure. Me and Zoya will get up on the lab tables and dance while Mrs. Kostyk curses us and our future children.” A pause, then, dryly, “What else is science class good for?”

At the same time Zoya said, “You? Dancing? Why not just ruin your reputation right now? If anyone ever saw that no one would ever ask you out again.”

“I _have_ a boyfriend, Zoya.”

“So? No one else knows that.”

**iv.**

Aleksander stared at her, something unfamiliar - though not at all unwelcome - gleaming in his icy eyes. She ran to him, he folded her easily into him, arms wrapping around her slender frame. He rested his head on top of hers, and she wondered if he was breathing her in - trying to account for the weeks between this visit and the last.

“I missed you,” she mumbled into his sweater.

She felt more than heard Aleksander sigh. “Did you.”

“Yes, very much asshat.”

**v.**

Keramzin celebrated Thanksgiving once again this year.

Zoya and Genya helped Alina cook the meal, and there was less grumbling about all the preparation. They even attempted an apple pie - though how good it would be they couldn’t be sure (Genya may have accidentally put nutmeg in the pie instead of cinnamon).

Ana Kuya sat, again, at the head of the table, a smile softening the lines of her weathered face as she looked upon her girls. They told stories, punctuated by bursts of laughter or little comments, and Ana Kuya even permitted the older girls a little of the wine she’d broken out for the occasion.

Alina had spent the majority of her younger years wishing for a family, and then all the years following convincing herself it didn’t matter if she didn’t have one; this, though...this was what family was.

Something warm sparked in her at the thought.

**vi.**

“Alina,” he started, tone conversationally light. It made her pause for a breath before her fingers were back to playing in his recently-trimmed hair.

“What?”

His dark eyes glittered up at her from where his head rested in her lap. She could almost imagine - if only for a brief moment - that they were a regular couple, out on a regular date, and not only at the lookout so as to be spared from the prying eyes of Os Alta. “You should reconsider -”

“I swear to -”

“Think about it, Alina.”

“I have. And we’ve _had_ this conversation.”

His tone lost the lightness. “You have a choice, and you are choosing wrong.”   

“Why?” She asked, forcing herself to not look away from him even as his stare became uncomfortably intense. “Because I’m choosing Rav U over Harvard, or because I’m choosing me over you?”

His lips quirked, but the gesture of amusement didn’t reach his eyes.

**vii.**

Snow fell in fat flakes from the dark sky. Downtown Os Alta was lit up by storefronts and strings of multicoloured lights, and Alina Starkov was on her third cup of eggnog.

“How you’re drinking that is beyond me,” Genya wrinkled her nose, and Alina was reminded of a time when they were twelve years-old, and the redhead had taken one sip of the drink and proceeded to spit it right back out - and onto an elderly woman.  

Zoya grinned over the top of her own styrofoam cup, snowflakes caught in her lashes. “The same way why you’re into Davina is beyond me.”

Genya’s brows furrowed, her lips pressed into a thin line, and gaze narrowing. “I could say the same thing about you and Mal -”

Alina rolled her eyes, tossing her empty cup into the trashcan a few steps away. Her cheeks were pink and stinging from the cold wind. “Can you two stop before I have to break apart _another_ fistfight?”

Zoya snorted, breath puffing out in a cloud of white, “When have you _ever_ broken up a fistfight, Starkov?”

\---

Alina squinted out the bus window. She wasn’t sure if the snow was just sticking to her window or if it had started snowing harder.

She also wasn’t sure how Aleksander had made this same three hour trip so many times before and not been exhausted by it. Though maybe he had been, and she had just been too preoccupied with taking his clothes off to notice.

\---

It was just past seven when the bus finally made it to Cambridge.

Alina got out on stiff legs, nearly slipping on a patch of ice as she readjusted the strap of her bag. She felt a little ridiculous, standing there shivering in her thrift store winter jacket and boots. The bright white hair probably wasn’t helping much, either. She thought about tugging on the beanie she’d brought (the best she could do), but didn’t. Alina had already spent too many years embarassed by her own appearance.

It was fifteen minutes later when Aleksander pulled up to the curb. She started towards the car, step faltering when she watched him get out and closed the distance between them in a few long, hurried strides. Alina stopped walking altogether.

“Why didn’t you call me?” He asked, bending ever so slightly to better meet her eyes. “I would have come to pick you up.”

Alina nodded - of course she knew that. But she was trying to decide if she really wanted to tell him the reason she’d been standing out here like an idiot, shivering and waiting for him instead of simply calling. She had already humiliated herself enough in telling him she could barely afford to go to college. So she lied: “I would have. My phone died.” Really, there was no reason he needed to know she had forfeited having an actual working phone this month so she could afford this little trip.

Aleksander didn’t look impressed, but after a moment his expression shuttered. “Come on let’s get you home.”

**viii.**

This apartment was hardly any different from his last. At least, colour-scheme wise. The walls were white, the floor was probably the fake stuff you bought at Home Depot, but all the furniture - it was black. Sectional, bookshelves, the throw pillows, and his bed she guessed, too.

“Really?” Alina asked with a pointed look as they passed the kitchen, the counters littered with empty ramen packages.

He gave a shrug, shoulders dusted with rapidly melting snowflakes. “I’ve been busy.”

Alina couldn’t help the smile on her face, even as she rolled her eyes. She followed him down the short hall to the last room on the left, feeling his eyes steadily upon her as he motioned for her to enter first.

She let her eyes wander - from the white duvet, to the dark wood of the bedframe, to the black shelves set in a single column going down one of the walls. There were no pictures.

It wasn’t what she had expected, yet at the same time, exactly what she had expected.

“You can put your clothes in the closet.”

She looked over her shoulder at him, nodding. She glanced back at the bed, wondering - worrying - about his reaction should she throw herself on it and ruin the neatness of it all.

Screw it, she thought, and launched herself onto it.

She sprawled herself across the enormous bed, arms outstretched and thinking that if only she had a bed this comfortable at Keramzin she wouldn’t complain ever again.

“You know,” Aleksander began in a drawl, a little smile turning his features into something bright and warm that made butterflies flutter in her stomach, “if you wanted to get me into bed, there are subtler ways to do it.”

Alina made a noise that was somewhere between a laugh and a noise of disbelief, lifting herself up slightly on her forearms to see him better. She waited for him to school it back to neutrality, back to that blank indifference she had come to know so well. But he only stared at her. “What?”

His lips parted as if to speak, but he closed them again; his eyes moved over her. Tracing the lines of her form, marking the soaked socks and leggings, the mess of white hair come mostly out of its braid; she shifted under the intensity of the gaze. “Admiring,” he replied absently a few beats later, as if still absorbed in taking her in.

She sat up fully, pushing back some of the loose hair hanging around her face, a devious expression lighting her features as she tried to decide if she wanted him in the bed, or in the shower.

Making her decision, she asked, “show me the shower?” Then, getting to her feet, she pulled the elastic from her hair, expertly undoing the braid as she advanced on Aleksander.

But before she could get within arms-length of him, he turned and spun on his heel, off down the hall. She followed, slightly baffled - he knew what she had been about to do. Why had he taken off like that? - trying to keep up with the long strides he took.

“Towels,” he pointed to a set of glass shelves with a few neatly folded towels as soon as she stood beside him in the rather small room. “And you can use whatever shampoo you want.” A hand waved vaguely in the direction of the shower.

“Oh-kay,” Alina pursed her lips, one brow arched - but he didn’t acknowledge the expression she knew he was aware she was making. In fact, he didn’t do anything other than turn and leave the room.

She stared at the empty doorway he’d occupied only seconds before, wondering what, exactly, had just occurred.

**ix.**

Alina wanted to say something - in fact, she was _going_ to say something.

That is, when she figured out something that didn’t make her sound as pathetic as she knew everything else she’d thought of would. She didn’t think a conversation started off with _Why did you flat out reject me last night and then, on top of that, refuse to spoon in bed?_ would go very well. Or, that alternatively, _Why won’t you touch me?_ would go well either.

Because how would he respond? That was what worried her most, and so she stared intently into her bowl of cereal, pushing around a purple Froot Loop with her spoon, debating. And when he finally strolled into the kitchen - straight to the coffee maker - she said, “I didn’t know you liked Froot Loops.”

This was already going fantastically.

He leaned back against the edge of the counter, dark sweatpants hanging low on his narrow hips and his arms crossed over his pale chest, mouth twitching in amusement. “I don’t,” he watched her movements intently as she put down the spoon and put her hands on either side of the bowl. Then just as she was about to ask why he had them if he didn’t like them, he said, “I got them for you.”

Alina blinked. When had she - how did he know? “Thanks.”

“Anytime, darling,” he turned back to his coffee machine.

\---

“Put your coat on.”

“Uh,” Alina leaned over the back of the couch, eyeing him skeptically as he stuffed his feet into a pair of boots. “...Can I ask _why_?”

The grin he gave her was wicked in a way that nearly made her toes curl. “No.”

\---

“Okay, pretty building - but where the hell are we?”

“Harvard Art Museum.”

The look she gave him told him plainly that she was not impressed. “Another soon-to-fail attempt at convincing me that Harvard is the best and only option?”

He didn’t deign to respond, but the slight shake of his head and the way his lips curled up was answer enough.

\---

It had to be admitted, Alina supposed, that the museum was absolutely stunning. The architecture, the way the skylights lit up the art so precariously placed - all of it. It wasn’t the mix of old and new that permeated much of Ravka, but beautiful in a different sort of way.

Aleksander followed as she wandered, absorbed, through the museum.

She stared wonderingly at the art, he stared wonderingly at her.

**x.**

He didn’t touch her that night, either.

**xi.**

Aleksander woke before her - Alina knew it, because when she opened her eyes he was staring directly at her, face inches from hers.

He seemed to stop breathing as her gaze dropped to his lips.

Oh she wanted to kiss him.

But she stayed where she was, hoping he would make the move - because if he didn’t, she wasn’t going to, and two could play at this stupid game.

He pulled in a shaky breath, turned and got up out of bed.

\---

Harvard Square was bustling. But they way they walked - slowly, hands in their pockets - one might think they were completely unaware of the jostling crowd that flowed around them.

They were not.

Alina cursed as someone stepped particularly hard on her foot. Next to her, Aleksander chuckled lowly.

\---

In the spare moments Aleksander wasn’t watching her, she watched him. It was made much more difficult than it should have been by the way he openly stared at her for almost the entirety of their walk, but Alina was determined to garner _something_ from that impassive look he wore.

\---

By dinner time, Alina still had no idea what Aleksander’s deal was. Part of her kicked and screamed at the idea of it, but breaking and making the first move seemed like the only option to end whatever stalemate they’d come to.

But what if her making the first move didn’t change anything? What would she do? Their entire relationship had been founded on physical attraction - without it did they even _have_ a relationship?  

“Pizza?” Aleksander suggested, one dark brow cocked.

“Whatever,” she replied flippantly, “As long as you don’t get olives on it.”

He waggled his eyebrows at her. “Anchovies?”

Alina threw a pillow at him. “You’re gross!”

“Herring?”

“Aleks!”

He laughed, throwing his head back, and she stared at that dimple she so rarely saw.

\---

In the darkness of his room, his back to her, she said, “kiss me.”

She knew he wasn’t asleep. And even if she had thought he was - the way his breath hitched as her fingers ghosted across the pale expanse of his skin would have given him away.

He didn’t turn around.

**xii.**

“Coffee?” He asked.

Alina pretended to contemplate, leaning back in her chair. “No,” she said, and when he started to turn away she added, “but you _can_ tell me why you refuse to touch me.”

Slowly, he turned back to her, face unreadable. “Refuse to touch you?” He said and before she could get out a word in return, he tugged her into him; arm snaked tightly around her waist, until they were pressed flush against one another and she could feel every breath he took. The look in his eyes seemed to say, _How’s this for refusing to touch you?_

“Kiss me, then,” Alina challenged, lifting her chin.

Aleksander didn’t move.

“That’s what I thought,” she tried to pull out of his grasp, but he held tight - seemed to hold even tighter if it was possible.

Then he was kissing her.

It took a second before she had her hands tangled in his hair. He tasted like coffee, and Alina made a noise into his mouth as his hands found their way to the backs of her thighs; he hoisted her up onto the counter.

He found his way to the hem of her shirt next, then the waistband of her pajama pants.

\---

“That wasn’t so hard now, was it?” Alina asked, chest rising and falling heavily.

He smirked, but no sooner had it come was it gone.

She brushed hair off of her forehead. “Care to tell me why you were avoiding touching me for almost a week?”

Minutes passed before he spoke. “I wanted to try something new.”

“Oh?” She raised her brows. “And what was that?”

“You wanted me to care,” he said evenly, and she noted the way he avoided her eyes now.  

Alina blew out a breath. “Yes, and?”

“I care.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So. 
> 
> That was a lot of time jumps, but I wanted to give you all kind of an idea of what Alina's senior year would look like because not only did some pretty important stuff happen in this time period, but there's a major time jump between this chapter and the next (two years, I think??). Anyways, hopefully that one takes less time to write.
> 
> As always, let me know what you think!!


	5. so it goes...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! I'm alive! This just took a real long time to write.  
> Anyways, this is inspired heavily by Taylor Swift's new album (specifically the song So It Goes...) and the song Shut Up and Let Me Go by The Ting Tings and a whole lot more, but mainly those.  
> Aleks is 23 at the beginning of this, and Alina is 19 and in her second year of uni.  
> Enjoy!!

**i.**

“Nikolai Lantsov. Barista, bastard, and at your service.” He stuck out his hand.

Alina stared at him, half amused, half confused. Beside the blond boy, Zoya rolled her eyes. Alina reached out and took his hand, albeit hesitantly. He shook it vigorously. “Alina.”

He took the sole seat next to her. “That’s my seat, asshole,” Zoya levelled a glare at him.

“Sit on my lap?” There was amusement glimmering plainly in his hazel eyes as he watched Zoya’s lip curl back. She tipped up her chin and sat in the seat in front of Alina’s, cursing Nikolai Lantsov and his future offspring to be the ugliest little satans the world had ever laid eyes upon.

Alina couldn’t help the snort that escaped her.

Nikolai leaned back in his seat. “Always a pleasure, Zoya,” he called down to her.  

The only response was a raised middle finger.

“You know Zoya?” Alina asked him. It was obvious the two were acquainted, but Alina couldn’t think of another conversation starter before they lapsed into silence.

“When I lived in Tsibeya.”

Alina looked at him in surprise. “You’re from Tsibeya?” She’d met people from all over before, all come to Os Alta for sight-seeing or to chase their dreams - that all inevitably failed because the city was cruel to anyone who couldn’t cough up hundred dollar bills on command - but never anyone from the mountain-laden city.   

His mouth quirked up, and she noticed the twin dimples that appeared on either side of his mouth. “Dva Stolba, actually, but who says that on a first date?”

Then suddenly from below them: “She's out of your league, Nikolai.”

His lips twitched into a small smile.

\---

“You’ve been in there for half an hour, asshole!” Genya shouted, banging her fist against their bathroom door. Zoya made a sound between a snort and a laugh on the other side.

“Try fifteen minutes, sugar plum.”

“Me and Alina need to get ready.”

“Boohoo.”

When Zoya finally emerged from the bathroom, she looked no different than usual save for the glossy straight hair and red glitter on her lids. “What?” She asked at the dark looks from Geyna and Alina. “Pretty takes time, and I burned my ear for this.”

“See how pretty you are with my foot down your _throat_ -” Genya muttered, marching into the bathroom and flicking on the light.

\---

This had not been Alina’s plan for the evening. No - being up against a grimy club wall had certainly not been the plan.

But there she was, pressed between Aleksander and that damn wall when she thought she ought to be dancing with Zoya and Genya and Mal and Nikolai - wherever _they_ were.

She could feel the heat of his hands through the sheer material of her shirt, feel his hips pressed against hers. Alina’s breath hitched. Her hands wound themselves from his shoulders into his hair.

She wasn’t even sure how she’d gotten into this position - it all went a little fuzzy after he’d seemingly materialized on the bar stool next to hers: “Here to pick up college girls?” She’d teased. “For shame.”

His face had been very, very close to hers as he agreed. “Shame on me, indeed.”

Alina took in a shallow breath, cheeks pink and heart thumping wildly - she was sure Aleksander could feel it beating against his skin. “My apartment?” His words were more of a sensation against her throat than a sound, it seemed.

She nodded.

\---

“Don’t you _dare_ tear that,” Alina warned in a low voice, Aleksander’s hands working the buttons on her skirt. He’d already torn one of her favourite shirts before in his haste to undress her, and she wasn’t about to have to borrow a pair of his sweatpants when she left tomorrow morning.

In response, a low chuckle passed his lips and brushed the skin of her neck, and his hands slowed fractionally on her skirt.

When it fell to the floor, Aleksander pulled back from his frantic kissing to admire her - and seemed thoroughly surprised by what he saw.

Thighhighs.

His eyes were wide and his hands limp at his sides. Like he almost didn’t know what to do with the Alina in front of him.

She laughed.

\---

Aleksander was a light sleeper.

“Where are you going?” He mumbled into his pillow, hair falling so that she could just barely glimpse the side of his face.

Alina sat up on the edge of the bed, stretching. “Home, and then work.”

Aleksander moaned. “A little longer.”

Alina shook her head, looking back at him with a small smile. “Don’t you wish.”

Aleksander lifted his face from the pillow, meeting her eyes. “As a matter of fact, I do.”

She made a face at him, pouting her lips. “Poor baby.”

**ii.**

Alina hummed as she iced a cake. She barely thought about what she did before she did it - it was muscle memory, at this point.

The bell above the door chimed, and seeing as Tolya was occupied with Baghra doing stock, Alina went to the register.

“Alina Starkov,” Nikolai grinned at her as if he’d just shared some grand secret.

Alina raised her brows, lips playing at amusement. “Nikolai Lantsov. What can I get for you?”

“Hmm,” he stared up at the menu board, “what about something as delicious as me?”

Alina snorted. “Are you sure? We have plenty of better options.”

Nikolai looked slightly offended. “How you wound me, Alina. If you’ll give me a minute to decide, my heart needs to recover from the agony you’ve inflicted on it.”

She shook her head, glancing down at the register, fingers hovering just above one of the keys, then back up to Nikolai who was looking at her. She noticed for the first time the way his nose was just ever so slightly crooked. Like it’d been broken.

It was a ridiculous thing, the satisfaction Alina felt in finding a singular flaw in that perfect exterior of his.

“A cake.” Nikolai blurted, hazel eyes widening as he spoke.

She stared at him a moment. Of all things for Nikolai to order, she certainly hadn’t been expecting him to say cake. “An entire cake?” She asked, brows inching towards her hairline.

“The gaudiest thing you have.”

Alina looked at him for a moment before heading for the fridge. “I’ll see what I can do, Lantsov,” she said.

\---

Just as Alina was heading home after work, undoing her ponytail as she walked, her phone buzzed in the pocket of her coat.

 **Zoya:**  
<< Find somewhere to stay. Genya and Davina are doing it.  

Alina cringed at the screen. Long story short, the dorm walls were thin, and Davina was a screamer.  

>> Thanks for the warning.

\---

“Honey I’m home!” Alina sang as she shut the front door to his apartment, flipping the lock. Her phone buzzed with a notification: _@znazyalenski has posted a picture_ . Unlocking her phone, Alina went immediately to the photo. It was a picture from last night, presumably taken in their bathroom because the photo had decent lighting (so _that_ was what had taken Zoya so goddamn long). She was in the middle of commenting how gorgeous Zoya was and would Zoya date her, please? when she noticed Aleksander peeking his head out of the bathroom door, wet hair stuck up and to his forehead haphazardly and smiling.   

Alina kicked off her boots.

“I wasn’t expecting you so early.”

Alina lifted her brows, then rolling her eyes, told him, “Davina is over.”

A curt nod. “Ah. Understandable.”

“So what did you want to do for dinner?”

Aleksander stepped into the hall, brushing hair out of his eyes, a black towel wrapped securely around his narrow waist. She eyed his toned arms and stomach unabashedly. When she met his eyes again, there was a ghost of a smirk playing across his lips. “Whatever you want.”

Alina went to the kitchen, opening the fridge. Then the freezer. Aleksander, having followed her, leaned against the counter. She turned to him. Noticed his towel had slipped lower. Said, “you have literally no food.”

“I have cereal.”

Alina gave him a look. “You have Raisin Bran.” A pause. “Why the fuck do you have Raisin Bran? You don’t even _eat_ Raisin Bran.”

Aleksander waved his hands in a magical sort of gesture, lips quirked up. “To give the illusion that I am a real adult.”

“Dork.”

**iii.**

A breeze ghosted across the bare skin of Alina’s arms - and it wasn’t particularly cold, but she huddled closer to Aleks nonetheless, her head nuzzled up under his chin, his breath stirring the loose hairs at the back of her head.

Alina couldn’t decide if she wanted to say anything or not. If she did, she might very well ruin the balance they’d settled into over the past two and a half years. But then, her life was too short to hold her tongue for the entirety of it. “What are we doing?”

“What do you mean?” Aleksander moved his head a little, fingers drawing small, nameless shapes on her back.  

“I mean, like, us - this. Our relationship. What is it?” She almost wanted to laugh. They’d been doing this little tightrope dance for four years, and she was only now just asking this question.

He hummed quietly. “Why does it matter?”

Alina pulled back, far enough to look him in the eye. He stared back with an intensity she had long grown familiar with. Her voice did not shake when she said, “because I’m in love with you.” She felt his chest still, saw something shutter in those eyes. “And I know you love me too.”

He didn’t object.

**iv.**

The next weeks passed as un-extraordinarily as the weeks that had preceded it. She got together with Genya and Zoya and Nikolai most days either to study or to simply hang out under the pretense of studying, and Baghra told her to make a dozen lemon meringue pies without explanation and the next day several different flavours of danishes.

And there was no rose-coloured tint to the world now that she knew Aleks felt something for her, and felt it strongly, and that it wasn’t just her body. But there was, however, a stumble in the beating of her heart when she saw him, and - if she wasn’t wrong - a hitch in his breath when he looked at her sometimes.

**v.**

Between the three of them, their small bathroom was an absolute mess. Open compacts and dirty brushes littered the counter, powder of all different colours accidentally spilled - but it was all ignored as they leaned close to the mirror; Alina trying to precisely apply some red lipstain, Zoya filling in her brows, and Genya batting her lashes at her reflection and posing to see how her boobs looked in the tight red dress.

“They’re fine,” Zoya told the redhead, rolling her eyes and dropping the spoolie onto the counter. She reached for the setting spray. “Put on the shoes.”

Genya’s lips pulled down at the corners. “It feels like they’re drooping, but at the same time like if I lean over” - she bent low scrutinizing her chest in the mirror - “they’ll fall out.”

“You know I had a conversation about this with Nikolai this morning before chem -”

“You and Nikolai were talking about my boobs?” Genya asked.

“No. I was complaining about how cold it was and said if it didn’t warm up I’d get hypothermia in my costume. Then Nikolai went ‘You’re wearing pants, Alina.’ And I said ‘That doesn’t mean my boobs can’t still get hypothermia.’”  

“If anyone’s getting hypothermia it’s me,” Genya frowned down at her chest.

Alina squeezed past Genya, into their room. She tossed off her shirt, stripping off her pants and then warning Zoya and Genya to not come in for a second as she exchanged her cotton bra and undies for the _beyond sexy_ (as the tags labelled them) black lace ones she’d bought last week. Next came the cropped white shirt, then the high-waisted black corduroy pants with three big white buttons on either side of her midriff.

Genya clicked her tongue, and Alina startled. She shot Genya a half-hearted glare that faded as Genya adjusted the collar on Alina’s shirt and then snatched up the hat to go with the costume, putting it ever so carefully on the blond’s hair.  

“Damn,” Genya said, running her eyes over Alina. “We are going to be the hottest things they’ve ever seen.”

Zoya snorted from the bathroom as Alina replied, “Davina’s is going to absolutely pass out when she sees you.”

The only response was Genya’s wicked grin.

\---

Suffice to say, Alina felt a little unstoppable in her gangster costume - and even more unstoppable with Wonder Woman/Zoya and Jessica Rabbit/Genya on either side of her.

The looks from passerby didn’t help deflate her ego, either.

All that was left to do was wait. They’d arrived early, it seemed, because the music was quiet and people were off in groups talking. Alina glanced around. She couldn’t wait until Aleksander got a look at her. The pants and heels were working wonders for her legs, and with the heels she’d be on eye-level with him.

“Well don’t you look like you could use a dashing privateer on the run from his responsibilities to rescue you?” Alina spun at the words, grinning widely when she beheld Nikolai in all his costumed-glory.

He wore an incredibly, strangely vibrant teal frock coat overtop of slightly baggy tan-coloured pants with shin-high black leather boots. His hair was an offensive shade of orange under his gaudy black pirate hat and it looked like he was wearing a prosthetic piece on his nose.

She couldn’t stop the laugh that bubbled up her throat. At the sound, Zoya and Genya turned towards her - and consequently Nikolai, too.

They were laughing so hard people began to stare, and when the three of them had managed to look at him without a giggle escaping, Nikolai bowed low. Once. Twice. He was on a third when Zoya let out a squeal and took off, launching herself into Mal’s arms, shield narrowly avoided colliding with his head.

It was another twenty minutes before the room started to get packed and the lights started to get lower and the music got better, louder. At some point Davina arrived, and Alina realized it was the first time she and Nikolai had met. And for how painfully shy Davina was, she seemed eager to talk with Nikolai, who introduced himself as Sturmhond and didn’t seem inclined to tell the her it wasn’t his real name.

When the music got to be loud enough to send vibrations up through her feet, and Aleksander still hadn’t shown, and Mal and Zoya had disappeared into the thick of the crowd and she didn’t know where Genya and Davina were, Nikolai asked her to dance.

Alina shrugged, adjusted her hat and followed him through the throng.    

The music got louder, and Nikolai began to dance - well, dance was a kind word for what Nikolai was really doing, which was a jumping and fist-pumping combo. Alina’s hand went to her mouth as she laughed, and her eyes roaming around them to see if anyone else was looking.

But no one was sparing them a second glance so Alina pushed aside her self-consciousness and tried to emulate Nikolai. By the third or fourth song, she’d taken off her hat and was flipping her hair, moving her hips.

Nikolai reached for her hand and pulled it up, twirling her around and around. Then he pulled her in, and they were nearly chest to chest, and when Alina lifted her head to look up at him, Nikolai was already watching her. Her chest moved up and down heavily, and she was sure her face was shining with sweat.

“I didn’t know you could dance,” she brushed hair away from her face, simultaneously pulling away from Nikolai. She noted the way he kept getting closer and closer to her, and while yes, she really did like Nikolai, and she had grown to value his friendship too much to let him think that he was going to get more than that from her.

Nikolai’s grin was crooked and very nearly comical with the prosthetic nose. “There’s not much I can’t do.”

Alina rolled her eyes, laughing a breathless laugh. “Impossible.”

“When people say impossible, what they usually mean is improbable.”

She was about to reply when she spotted Aleksander. His eyes, slate gray, caught hers first, then his dark hair - slicked back and away from the sharp angles of his face - and, finally, the black suit and shiny shoes and hat that nearly matched hers. Alina stared at him. He stared back at her, unreadable.  

How improbable was it for them to both have chosen the same costume, she wanted to ask Nikolai.

Alina went to Aleksander, reached for his hand hanging at his side. He dropped his eyes to their hands as she wound them together, and his mouth twitched as if he wanted to smile.

“Dance with me?”

His head snapped up suddenly, eyes boring into hers. “You look gorgeous.”

Alina brought her mouth close to his ear; Aleksander’s hands went to her waist. “I think you’re biased.”

His answering chuckle was so low she almost didn’t catch it over the music.

\---

“Does anybody want wine?” Zoya called from the kitchen. “Fuck - wait. Nevermind,” a pause, “we’re too poor to have wine.”

Genya tossed her head back in Davina’s lap, seemingly lost in her laughter. Mal shifted on the couch, Nikolai peeled off the fake nose he’d been wearing all night, and Aleks’ fingers played in Alina’s hair; she sighed.

Zoya reappeared in the living room, grinning wildly, face framed by now-messy curls, half undone. She was holding a bottle of _kvas_ in either hand. Everyone seemed to make some sort of disgusted noise or comment, but all (save Aleksander) took a swig when the bottle was passed into their hands.

\---

“Okay, I know silent treatment is your whole _‘thing’_ , but can you just tell me what I did?” Alina rubbed her eyes. It was sometime past noon, and though she’d been in bed all morning, her head was still killing her. She always did this - swore she’d never drink _kvas_ again after the last time and then do it regardless when someone brought out the bottle and repeat the cycle.

Aleksander regarded her, that same impassive look on his face. Cocked his head. “I don’t share, Alina.”

She raised her brows. “Am I supposed to know what you’re talking about, or...?”

His eyes narrowed fractionally, the only sign of his irritation. “Your _friend_ ,” the way he said the words made them seem like they were something much more disgusting and awful than they were. His hands tightened around the mug he held. When Alina said nothing, only looked at him as if she were concerned, he spat, “don’t make me spell it out for you Alina.”

“How do you expect me to fix it if I don’t even know what I _did_?” Alina demanded.

“At least,” he bit out, “have the decency to end things with me before... _fraternizing_ with a Lantsov.”

There was an expression of disbelief written across Alina’s features, mixed with anger and exasperation. “You’re jealous? Are you serious? How can you not know - how can you think...I love you, Aleksander. I am committed to _you_ , Aleksander.”

His lips were a thin line, and he didn’t have to say a word for Alina to see he didn’t believe a word coming from her mouth. So she tried something different.

“Okay. Fine. If you’re so pissed, so jealous, why did you bring me back here last night?” Alina’s voice rose as she spoke, and Aleksander opened his mouth to say something but she continued: “Why did you have sex with me? Why make me coffee?” She felt the heat in her cheeks, felt the embarrassment rising up. Why was she embarrassed? She had nothing to be embarassed for.

“You know what,” Alina slammed down her coffee. “Call me when you’re ready to have an actual conversation instead of accusing me of being unfaithful just because you’re insecure.” Then, just as she was about to storm into the living room and leave -

“Don’t come running back to me,” he bit out in a low, quiet voice. Somehow, Alina thought it was worse than if he had yelled the words. But Aleksander Morozova had always been a controlled man. A response like this was usually the most she could draw out of him; his cheeks were flushed bright pink. It was a shocking sight on someone who never blushed.

“Why would I want to?” Alina’s cheeks felt just as flushed and she hated him.

With every bone in her body, she hated him in this moment.

Those icy eyes seemed to grow colder as a sharp, dark laugh escaped him; it seemed to say everything without him having to open his mouth another time. _You always fall back into my bed_.

She felt herself straighten, felt her chin tip up slightly. “Go fuck yourself,” she said, in that quiet, deadly tone he’d used on her when she was fifteen and wanted a real relationship - wanted Malyen Oretsev. She couldn’t help but notice the heavy way his shoulders were moving up and down with each breath and thought of other times when his shoulders moved that way, when she was -

No. She wouldn’t think about that.

Aleksander wasn’t worth it. Worth anything. She wondered if she would still feel the same, however, when she was alone in her bed tonight.

She tried not to think about that as she turned on her heel, and rushed out of the room wondering where all her tears had gone to that they weren’t already pouring down her cheeks.

\---

Alina thought about a lot of things that night.

She thought about how Aleksander must have _known_ it was wrong to get involved with her when he was nearly twenty and she was barely into high school. But he’d done it anyways. She thought of how it was strange what Aleksander had said about _fraternizing with a Lantsov_. And, more surprisingly, she thought of Ana Kuya. She hadn’t seen the woman since the day she had moved out of Keramzin, but thinking about it now - Ana Kuya was a smart woman. She had to have known Alina wasn’t with Genya or Zoya every time she was gone for the night. She had to have known - but she never mentioned it, and Alina wondered why.

\---

It took Alina a few days to fully grasp what had happened, the reality of it. She was single, free, and she had a hard time deciding if that was a good thing or not.

It took a week for Alina to stand steadily on her own two feet, to come to terms with the fact that she had no idea who she was when she wasn’t in a relationship.

But it took mere hours for Alina to make the second life-altering decision to never go back to Aleksander Morozova.

**vi.**

In the morning she got up and stood before the mirror.

Her hair was a knotted mess and her eyes puffy and sore and tired; her head pounding, a feeling in her chest like it was simultaneously hollow and full to the breaking point and _this is what he does to you_ a voice whispered inside her.

She took out his earrings.

**vii.**

Nikolai’s breath came out in a white cloud beside her.

The street was all lit up; some lights here, some more there - it looked like Santa Claus had puked. There was a giant tree with a star shining brighter than any of the strings of lights sitting atop it, and she felt something of that same awe and wonderment at the sight as she did every year. A wrinkled old woman handed them each a styrofoam cup that was almost hot enough in their hands to chase away the coldness. She had hair black as night, and it made her think - in the breath between seconds - of Aleksander.

Alina glanced quickly up to the lights as Nikolai thanked the woman. “Pretty aren’t they?” She worried that Nikolai could read her thoughts clear as day on her face, but then shook herself - there was only one person she knew who could do that and he was long gone. “And I swear if you say ‘not as pretty as you’ I’m dumping my hot chocolate down the front of your coat.”

Nikolai laughed jovially. He seemed to love Christmas, where she was indifferent. They’d never celebrated the holiday at Keramzin, and Alina had never seen a reason to start when she’d left two years ago - and neither had Aleksander; he and his mother had moved around too often to have the money for it and _you have got to stop doing this to yourself_.

They continued their walk silently, hands brushing and fingers meeting as Nikolai put his hand out for her to hold it, and Alina pretended not to notice the gesture. She’d meant it when she decided on Halloween that she didn’t want anything but friendship with Nikolai.

It was as they passed a storefront with a mannequin posing in a pair of black men’s jogging pants that she opened her mouth to speak again. “Look, Ale -” Alina snapped her mouth shut, mortified. Days, weeks, of pushing Aleksander out of her mind until she was certain she was finally rid of him, and there he was, wedging himself further under her skin like a persistent little splinter when she paying the least attention.

Nikolai’s head turned lazily toward her. “What was that? I’m afraid I didn’t hear a word over the _joyous_ choir singing praises to our Lord and Saviour.” He smiled obliviously at her, waiting for her laugh.

**viii.**

Time, Alina found, was all she had. Time and time and time to do nothing at all.

It wasn’t a nice feeling to realize she had no hobbies. All of her time previously tied up with Aleksander was now empty minutes sitting heavily on her shoulders, the weight feeling suspiciously like guilt.

Genya was sitting on the couch with one leg pulled nearly up to her chest, tablet balanced haphazardly on her thigh. Curious, Alina leaned over the back of the couch to see what her friend was doing.

Drawing, Alina saw. Genya was drawing.

“It’s a fashion model,” she explained, stylus gliding over the tablet’s screen with ease. “Once I’m done with the figure, I’m gonna put some clothes on her. It’s an assignment for my fashion design class.”

Alina found herself nodding along as Genya continued to explain what she was doing as she drew, and when Genya retired to her room a few hours later, Alina scavenged for some blank paper and took a pen to it.

\---

For the next weeks, Alina passed much more of her free time with a pad of paper and a pen than she would have liked to admit. And when she was finally able to draw something and not totally cringe at the finished product, she took Genya’s advice and signed herself up for a second-semester art class.

**ix.**

Alina glanced to the clock. Cursed. Kept digging through her closet.

She wasn’t exactly sure what she was searching for yet, but _something_ better than what she’d picked out yesterday. The top, she had discovered, did most unflattering things to her figure and she had been hoping to wow this evening with Nikolai at that charity event - she thought, she couldn't remember exactly - he was dragging her to, just on the off chance _someone_ was there. As Zoya said, dress like you’re going to see your ex and want them to regret losing you.

She saw something black at the back of her drawer, and grabbed for it; black was always flattering.

She sat back on her heels at the sight of what she’d pulled out.

A t-shirt - about two and a half sizes too big, black, and not hers.

She shoved it back in the drawer without a second glance, wondering why she didn’t just throw it out.

**x.**

New Year's arrived abruptly.  

It was a cheery affair, but after all was said and done, after she’d giggled and sung her heart out and done herself all up, sitting gloomily on some frat’s couch wasn’t how she’d anticipated spending the night two, three months ago.   

Cheers erupted around her, confetti raining onto the floor and into her hair. She glared at the clock that had just blinked midnight at all of them. Zoya clasped either side of Mal’s head and brought her lips down on his; Davina yanked Genya down to her level and kissed her quick and chaste and the redhead pulled away laughing. New Year’s Eve, she decided, was not so much fun if you weren’t kissing someone.

Alina tipped back her cup, hoping if she drank enough she wouldn’t remember the bruising pressure of pale lips against hers and long fingers on her waist.

\---

Genya and Zoya practically had to carry her home that night. What a wonderful way to welcome in the New Year, she would be thinking in the morning.

But right then, all Alina Starkov could think was that she hated him. She hated herself. She hated that she missed him. She hated that he hadn’t called her. Hated that she’d put her heart in his hands so willingly, so blindly - so _stupidly_. Especially after everything they’d already put each other through.

And she hated that the first person she had ever said I love you to had brushed it off.

In the morning Alina wouldn’t remember shedding a single tear over Aleksander Morozova.

**xi.**

January came and went, along with February and the cold weather, apparently - March was mild enough for Alina to wear a sweater instead of the heavy winter jacket she’d saved for months to buy. It would have seemed like a waste if December hadn’t been such a cold bitch. So there she was, jogging down the street with Genya and Zoya through the melting snow and slush, doing their best to make it to the bus before it left for campus without them and their arms full of grocery bags.

“Hurry up,” Zoya snapped at them.

“Shut up,” Alina replied, breaths coming hard and fast. Good god, she was out of shape. But that, she supposed, was what university and a job did to you.

“Stop - guys stop!” Genya was shouting, trying to grab one of Alina’s hands and not drop the groceries. “We have to cross here!”

Alina turned her head sharply from left to right, peering down the street to check for oncoming traffic but already moving to cross. She nearly tripped in her haste at the sight of a black Maserati and the tall and lean figure getting out of it and moving to put money in one of the machines so he wouldn’t get a ticket. He was wearing a sharply-cut black coat, and his hair was slicked back, neatly styled despite the cold wind blowing, and damn her if he wasn’t still the most attractive person she had ever seen.

“Hurry the fuck up!” Zoya was saying, looking at Alina expectantly. “Do you _want_ to get mowed over, Starkov? Because you’re holding at least a third of our food for the next like three weeks and I swear to god if it gets mowed over too -”

Alina rolled her eyes, glaring at Zoya but hurrying across the street nonetheless. Her friends plowed forward, and Alina followed but - she couldn’t help herself. She wanted just one more look.

He was standing on the sidewalk, the same stretch of sidewalk as her, one hand in his pocket, staring down at his phone. He lifted his head and she snapped her head forward so fast she didn’t know if he was looking at her; noticing her the same way she did him. She didn’t _think_ he’d noticed her, but then again - he had always noticed everything.

**xii.**

“What do you want to do with your life, Alina?” Nikolai asked her, feet propped up on his coffee table.

Alina started at the question, mouth already half open to tell him she wanted to do something with science - physics, light physics, specifically. She’d been studying solar panels lately, so maybe she could do something with that - but she didn’t. She did not want to spend her life pouring over books and doing experiments and starting over and over again when something didn’t work out the way she thought it would.

“I want to draw,” Alina found herself telling him, the words foreign and new and worrying and exciting. She glanced up at Nikolai, something like wonder dancing in her eyes. Never before had she seriously considered art like a career. It was an inconstant job, and you either made it or you struggled endlessly from what she heard in her art classes.

Nikolai’s eyebrows were raised, and a crooked smile split his face. “A game changer, I’d say.”

Alina could not help but agree.     

**xiii.**

It was not until her third year of university that she saw Aleksander Morozova again, let alone spoke to him.

She was tying her hair up before starting on a batch of cakes Baghra wanted done, watching the sun slowly crest the horizon between the spaces between buildings across the street when, out of nowhere, Aleksander Morozova was behind her, walking out of Baghra’s office, the old woman behind him and speaking in a tone too low for her to eavesdrop on.

She spun around, pretending to not have noticed and headed for the sink. She wasn’t sure if she imagined the feeling of eyes on her as she washed her hands or not.

\---

“Girl,” Baghra said, though it wasn’t in the harsh, berating tone Alina was used to.

Alina’s hands slowed ever so much as she iced the cupcakes. “Yes?”

“My son...I know he loves you, but he is no good -”

She stared at Baghra. “Your son? You have a kid?” A stupefied pause. “Why on earth do you think I’m -”

Baghra scowled, the corners of her mouth like weights that dragged down all the features with the frown and Alina’s mouth stopped. “Don’t play dumb with me, girl. You are better than that...and better than my son.”

Alina regarded Baghra somewhat incredulously. “Baghra, I honestly have no idea what you’re talking about. I haven’t had a boyfriend since last October, and he wasn’t your son.”

“You are trying to tell me I wouldn’t recognize my own son?”

“I am so lost.”

Baghra made a sound something like _hmph_ , and said, “heed my warning, Alina. Aleksander is no good.”

\---

“You’re never going to believe what happened to me at work,” Alina told Genya and Zoya around a mouthful of turkey sub.

Zoya arched a dark brow. “You got a raise.”

Alina glared half-heartedly at the brunette. Swallowed. “Aleksander showed up.”

“What do you mean?” Genya demanded, suddenly paying rapt attention. “Like, he walked in and ordered something like last time - ?”

Alia shook her head. “Like behind the counter. I was putting my hair up and I turned around and he was walking out of Baghra’s office.”

Zoya leaned forward. “Did he say anything? To you?”

“No. Just left. And then, like an hour later Baghra came up to me and said ‘I know my son loves you, but he is no good’. So, you know, Aleksander is Baghra’s _fucking kid_.”

“Holy shit,” Genya whispered softly. And then: “Baghra could’ve been your mother-in-law.”

Alina cringed, but at the same time thought that Baghra wouldn’t be such a bad person to have on your team.

**xiv.**

“Alina.”

She clenched her teeth. Panicked a little. Prayed to every Saint she could think of to give her the strength not to start a scene in the middle of a coffee shop. Turned to face him. Tried not to be impressed by the cheekbones or the eyes or the lips - _especially_ not the lips - that now that she thought of it would be quite fun to draw and said, “Aleksander.”

He smiled a close-lipped smile, something akin to amusement shining in his eyes. “How are you?”

Alina titled her head, pretending to think about it. “I have six different essays all due within the week and I got three hours of sleep” - she held up her coffee cup a little for emphasis - “so, you know. Fantastic.”

He almost laughed - she could see it. “Would you go on a date with me?”

Alina’s brows shot up towards her hair, eyes widening. “Still blunt as ever, I see.”

“Answer the question, Alina.”

She sighed. “I don’t think so.”

He opened his mouth, and Alina prepared herself to answer a question along the lines of “why not”, but “okay, I understand” came out instead and she nearly did a double-take. He grinned wide at her expression, then leaned in a little, “if you change your mind, give me a call.” He winked.

Alina was still standing there, holding her coffee and slightly confused when the shop’s door swung shut behind him.

\---

>> Meet me somewhere?

The response was nearly instant:

<< Name the time and place.

Alina bit her lip, wondering if she would regret this. There was no way running back to old habits was in any way good.

>> That coffee shop on Pravdy.

<< Be there in 20.

\---

Aleksander arrived in thirteen minutes. He walked in long, even strides to her two-person table and pulled out the chair, crossing his legs at the ankles when he sat.

“What changed your mind?” Were the first words out of his mouth.

Alina worried at her lower lip. “The way you acted the last time I saw you. You weren’t so - such an asshole.” Aleksander was about to reply when she continued: “But here’s the thing. Yes, I missed you, and I was no saint, but you were not good for me - to me. And I can’t have you in my life again unless that changes.”

Aleksander nodded, thoughtful. “You’re right. We’re bad for each other.” He paused, seeming to appraise her. “But I want to be better. You are remarkable Alina, and I didn’t realize what it truly meant to lose you until you walked out of my apartment and never came back.” His voice became quieter, fierce as he spoke: “I’ve done a lot of awful things in my life, Alina, you know that. I should have stayed away from you when you were in high school, and I should have treated you better than I did. I can’t change that, but I can try to be a better man. You deserve more than an entitled, arrogant man-child who can’t get over himself and his insecurities long enough to see he already had everything he wanted.”  

Alina leaned back in her chair, closing her sketchbook. “Are you asking for a third chance?”

“I’m begging for anything you’ll give me.” He told her matter-of-factly, and she noticed the tension in his shoulders, the stiff set to his jaw.

“We were never friends,” Alina looked up at him, smiling slightly. “I’d like to be.”

“Friends, then,” Aleksander agreed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so you see, this was not how this chapter was going to go at all. But I like it, and I think they needed it, ya know??
> 
> Also, you may have noticed this story is now going to have 6 chapters instead of 5. I decided I wanted an epilogue of sorts. My brain is already running wild with ideas, so we'll see how fast that goes...But yeah, originally in this chapter Alina was supposed to kind of start a relationship with Nikolai, but I feel like I've done that story line waaayy too many times at this point and I realized Alina couldn't just keep going back to Aleksander, the way their relationship was - especially since she was older. 
> 
> Side note (!!!): By xiii, Alina is 20 and Aleks is 24.  
> Anyways, tell me what you thought!!! As always, I am eager for comments bc I need validation, etc, etc...


	6. conclude

**i.**

Alina was twenty-four and just finished with her MBA in business the next time she kissed Aleksander Morozova.

It was spontaneous, a thoughtless action in the midst of Alina’s excitement upon finding out her artwork would be featured in Ravka’s then-biggest gallery. The paper was still gripped in her hand, crinkling, as she grabbed Aleks by either side of his head and pulled his lips to hers. As quick as she’d grabbed him, Alina had let go, beaming - the full impact of what she had just done not fully realized yet - and Aleksander had stood, frozen, staring at her, fingers pressed against his lips.

\---

She thought she was over this.

She thought she had decided never to go back to Aleksander Morozova.

Yet, there she was, staring out her window and not seeing a thing because she couldn’t stop thinking about that face, those eyes, those smiles, those sarcastic remarks, those _lips_. Couldn’t stop thinking about the way his brows pinched together in thought, the sound of his laugh, the smell of coffee he always seemed to wear.

Alina sighed. Took a drink from her mug.

\---

This was, perhaps, the only thing she didn’t consult Genya and Zoya on.

\---

>> Meet me somewhere?

<< Give me 20.

<< And Pravdy?

>> Yeah.

\---

“What,” Aleksander began, seating himself across from her, “is so important you could not simply tell me over the phone?”

Alina traced the rim of her coffee cup with her finger. “Just wanted to see you.”

His brows rose slightly as he regarded her. “Is that so?”

She nodded, eyes trained on the cup.

“Because you seem like you have something to say to me.”

Alina lifted her gaze, tilting her head. She hesitated before she began, but thought that she had to spit it out at some point and it might as well be now. “What would you say if I...hypothetically...asked you out?”

Aleksander’s features went still, and his shoulders seemed to stop moving with the gentle motions of breathing. It took a moment for him to speak, and as he did, his features gradually pulled into a thoughtful frown. “I would - hypothetically, of course - say I didn’t want to ruin our friendship, because I enjoy having you in my life too much to chance ruining it.”

Alina tried not to let her disappointment show. But this is what she wanted to hear, right? She wanted reassurance that any third or fourth or fifth attempt at a relationship between them would end the same or worse. She wanted -

She wanted him to say yes. And she wasn’t much surprised by that fact.

He leaned suddenly nearer to her, resting a forearm on the tabletop separating them. “But I’m much more selfish in actuality; and I would say yes.”

“In actuality, then,” Alina fought a smile, “Aleks would you like to go on a date with me?”

**ii.**

Alina Starkov was just on the cusp of twenty-five when she sat parked in her car, staring across the street at the - _her_ \- building seemingly made wholly from panes of tall glass. She still almost couldn’t wrap the idea around her head that this was hers, that _she_ had bought this.

And if she had anything to say about it, it wasn’t too bad for an orphan. Not too bad for an artist. Not too bad at all.

She opened the door and got out, walking across the street with the biggest smile gracing her lips.

**iii.**

“So,” Alina leaned across the counter, staring up at him, head propped on her fisted hand. “What do you want for your birthday?”

He replied with little hesitation, and seemed almost surprised by the words that fell out: “I want you to marry me.” Almost like he hadn’t meant to say them out loud.

She had never let herself imagine this scenario before. Never let herself believe it would happen. Aleks just never seemed like the type; she stared, brown eyes wide.

He suddenly looked more panicked than Alina had ever seen him - his eyes went round, his cheeks blooming a vibrant pink. “I - only if you want - of course. If you don’t want to I would completely understand, Alina -”

“Yes,” she said. Then louder, “yes.”

“Yes?” Aleks stared at her, something like trepidation and incredulity in his words, on his face.

Alina nodded enthusiastically, fighting the stinging in her eyes and reaching up to throw her arms around Aleks’ neck.

Somehow, she ended up sitting on the counter with him between her thighs and her hands in his hair and his lips on her mouth, with a fierce intensity.

\---

_You are invited to the wedding of_

_Alina Starkov_

_and_

_Aleksander Morozova_

_July 6th, 2018_

\---

Their wedding, they decided, would not be a big ordeal, but neither would it be simply the two of them in the courthouse.

Aleksander wanted to give her anything and everything.

Alina wanted the white dress and the bouquet and the bridesmaids and Aleksander and not much else.

\---

Alina sucked in a breath as Zoya zipped her into her dress; Genya squealed excitedly.

Then they were silent, staring at each other. After a moment, almost breathlessly, Alina said, “well how do I look?”

“Beautiful,” Genya blinked rapidly, as if trying to keep the tears at bay.

“Hotter than me,” Zoya grinned.

Alina gave a tentative smile and Genya rolled her eyes; “Oh would you just look in the mirror?”

So she did.

She looked and she saw first her co- maids of honour, dressed in their dark blue, sleeveless halter dresses, on either side of her, leaning in and staring at her. Then she saw herself; the low-cut bodice and sheer and layered material of her dress, the opaque white flowers decorating it; her hair, perhaps even whiter than her wedding dress, wavy and pulled back from her face in a half-up-half-down style; her cheekbones shimmering and sharp, her lips a pale pink, and her skin glowing with the radiance of someone who had despite the odds gotten something like a happy ever after.

\---

Alina had heard people recount in precise detail their weddings, down to the exact shade of white and pink and red the flowers had been - but later, she wouldn’t remember much except for the nerves wracking her, and then Genya and Zoya walking her down the aisle their hands on her arms, handing her off to Aleksander, staring intently into his eyes as they spoke their vows, and the complete exhilaration that flooded her as he slipped a ring onto her finger and kissed her, pulling back to reveal the biggest, proudest smile and _two_ dimples.

He laced his hand through hers, and Alina Morozova lifted her arm, flowers falling from her bouquet, unable to help her laughter as their friends cheered (and Baghra stared, unimpressed).

**iv.**

Alina was twenty-six and too young, she told herself, for a baby.

But the pregnancy test in her hand didn’t seem to share her opinion - in fact, it felt like it the stupid plastic stick was laughing at her.

She looked up, fingers grasping at the edge of the counter, and stared hard at herself. She was still wearing her work clothes, her hair and face still all done up, and it seemed a laughably formal way to look to find out you were pregnant. Could she do this? Could she raise a child and not royally screw them up? Could she and Aleksander raise a child who grew into a well-adjusted adult, with all their issues? Neither of them was perfect by a long stretch and neither of them had had very good parental experiences. On top of that, there was the gallery - was it possible to balance a child and a business? For her? For them?

“What are you doing in here?” Aleksander’s words, though spoken normally - if not a bit quietly - startled Alina enough to make her jump. She stuttered out a shaky laugh, hand pressed to her hammering heart, and his eyes met hers in the mirror...dropped to what she held in her hand.

His voice had fallen to a near whisper. “What is that?”

Alina turned slowly to face him, letting out a long breath. “We need to have a talk.”

**v.**

It was pouring rain the day their daughter was born.

Alina was still breathing hard, skin slick with sweat and tears when Aleksander pressed the little pink bundle into her arms. She was warm and covered in gunk and still crying and Alina hadn’t even seen her face yet; she held her tightly, fiercely.

Aleks pulled a chair up next to the bed, and leaned in, pressing a kiss to his wife’s forehead. When he pulled back, he tucked away some stray hairs behind her ear then stared down at the bundle. “Sonyae,” he said.

“Sonyae,” Alina agreed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So! That was quick, but I hope you all liked it, and I hope you thought it was a good conclusion to this train wreck of a relationship/story. 
> 
> And if you were wondering, because I know I would be (and because I like to imagine this sort of thing) and I couldn't find a place to fit it into the chapter, Sonyae (pronounced like Sonya, btw) has brown eyes and black hair, and is gonna be hella good looking because have you seen her parents??? like hello????


End file.
